


Closing Time At The Snake Pitt

by Earth_Phoenix



Series: Smutty One Shots [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Bars and Pubs, Bottom Harry, M/M, Top Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 16:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earth_Phoenix/pseuds/Earth_Phoenix
Summary: Harry pays of a debt.Huge thanks to the wonderful copper for being an awesome Beta Reader! <3





	Closing Time At The Snake Pitt

The pub was empty, the patrons having left hours ago. Used glasses sat on the tables still, the foam from the head of the beers slowly evaporating. Half-smoked cigarettes lay forgotten on the tables.

Drunk voices drifted in through the gaps in the closed doors. The sound of laughter floated through the air, highlighting the quietness of the pub.

The curtains fluttered over the windows as a breeze drifted by, allowing moonlight to shine through and land on the only two people left inside the pub.

Harry Potter, the town’s youngest drunk and bane of every pub owner’s life, was bent over a bar stool. Legs dangling over the sides, his shirt bunched up around his shoulders as he worked off his debt with The Snake Pitt’s newest owner.

No one got out of paying their tabs with Tom Riddle. You ended up paying one way or another.

The stool scraped along the floor after a particularly hard thrust from Tom. Harry let out a low gasp, unused to having such rough lovers (that he remembered anyway.)

His arms gripping the cushion on the stool, Harry tried to steady himself, matching Tom’s thrusts. He whimpered as the head of Tom’s prick brushed over the small bundle of nerves that sent Harry wild.

The sound of a clock ticking could barely be heard over the heated gasps and moans. The steady slapping of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck,” was Tom’s only warning before Harry came, coating the underside of his chest and the bar stool in hot, sticky cum.

Tom grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, each breath more ragged than the one before, as Harry’s tight anal walls constricted around his cock.

Harry’s back arched as Tom stilled, his cock pumping cum deep within the drunk youth. Harry’s arse worked over time, milking Tom for every drop of cum.

They stayed connected; Tom catching his breath as Harry allowed tiredness to tug him softly into sleep, his arms now hanging limply by the stool.

Tom pulled out and looked at Harry in disgust. Harry could be no older than twenty-three and seemed set to live in the most self-destructive way possible. What a waste.

He tucked himself back into his jeans and straightened his shirt. “Get the hell out of my pub.”

Harry stirred and slipped off the stool. He said nothing as he dressed sluggishly, he hands fumbling as he tried to pull up his jeans. Growing impatient Tom pushed Harry’s hands out of the way and dressed the boy himself.

Finally dressed, Tom watched as Harry stumbled out the bar, tripping over his own feet and knocking into tables. Stale beer sloshed over Harry’s already stained clothes.

Harry would avoid the bar for a few days, but his overwhelming need to get drunk off his face would bring him back to Tom’s pub and run up another large tab. Naturally, as soon as Harry’s debt becoming crippling Tom would have to bend him over a bar stool to pay it off.

It was a pattern they had quickly adopted in the eight months Tom had been in charge, with a mutual understanding that they would never speak of it publically.

Heading to the back of the bar, Tom spotted Harry through a window, making his way to the local nightclub.  _ He should really buy the club, _ he thought, Harry would run up a much faster debt that way.

With that enticing thought in mind, Tom locked the doors and climbed the stairs to the flat above the pub to bed.


End file.
